


prompt - mistletoe

by odditycurator



Category: Dishonored (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, corvo inspects all the holiday decorations, shameless fluff, sir that's not a bomb it's a festive wreath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/odditycurator/pseuds/odditycurator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as a holiday prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	prompt - mistletoe

When the end of the calendar nears, the servants busy themselves with decorating around the Tower, as expected.   
  
He does not expect, however, the bits of plants hanging in some of the doorways. Those are new this year.  
  
“It’s not _poison_ , Lord Protector,” a passing servant tells him, as he stares up at a large sprig, mentally comparing the leaves to those of hemlock and nightshade. He must have been frowning more severely than he thought. “Her majesty will be fine, as long as she doesn’t eat them.”  
  
“What _is it_ , though,” he asks.  
  
“Mistletoe, sir,” she says, balancing a tray of tea in her hands. “It’s a Tyvian tradition, I guess. I’m not sure who suggested it.” She smiles at him as she turns to leave. “I think it’s sweet, honestly.”   
  
Corvo assumes that’s the end of it, until he is shadowing Jessamine later that day. The mistletoe is starting to multiply, and through sheer misfortune of luck, they pass under some on the way into the south meeting room.   
  
“Best not keep the Empress waiting, sir,” says one of the senators, smirking, and Jessamine covers a laugh and he looks _hopelessly_ confused- and then a little horrified- when someone explains it to him. For _Void’s sake,_ he thinks. Nobody ever tells him these things.   
  
“That would be highly inappropriate,” he manages, tightly, and he can feel the pink over his cheekbones, and once everyone has a good laugh at his expense he spends the rest of the meeting fidgeting uncomfortably in the back of the room.   
  
_“He knows about us,”_ Corvo hisses in her ear, once they are safely out of earshot, and she sighs.  
  
“Corvo, _please_ calm down. It was a joke.”   
  
It keeps happening. The comments and giggles behind his back get old very, very quickly. He contemplates actually kissing her, just to shut them up, but he would rather not raise any more suspicion than necessary.  
  
She notices the paranoia it puts in him- the way his shoulders sit a little higher, the way he flinches and puts an extra foot of distance between them whenever anyone mentions another sprig above their heads.  
  
“They’re just teasing you,” she tells him.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“The same reason I do,” Jessamine says, with a patient smile. “Because it’s _easy_.”  
  
He spends the next several days trying to subtly alter her routes. She notices. He wishes she were not so observant. She informs him that perhaps he should try not being so damned transparent. He frowns.   
  
One evening there is a dinner party, and he watches her glide around the polished floors, drink in hand, making the necessary small talk. He turns down one cider, then another- he hasn’t forgotten the incident from last year, thank you- and when there is finally a lull in the stream of people demanding her attention, she stops and catches his eye from across the room.   
  
She is smiling at him, and she is standing under one of those _stupid plants._   
  
He sighs and rolls his eyes- exaggerates the movements so that she can see it from where she’s standing, twenty feet away. This is ludicrous. He is considering abusing his status as Lord Protector to interrogate everyone in the Tower until he finds out who is responsible.   
  
But.  
  
She does look particularly radiant, outlined in black, in the warm light of candles and festive lamps. Light reflected on her hairpin, on her jewelled earrings, in her eyes. Her smile expectant. And her lips do look particularly inviting, and-  
  
He puts it out of his mind, not without a hint of bitterness. It’s not worth dwelling on. Such things are for people who are not them, who do not have obligations and expectations and _duties_ that prevent them from engaging in even the most minute of silly social rituals.   
  
Corvo sighs, and when he looks up she has moved on. The whole matter settles into a familiar weight in his chest for the rest of the evening, and he feels rather like an _idiot child_. Like he is sixteen and pining again for things he knows he is not supposed to have.   
  
Hours later, when the party is over, he stalks upstairs. It’s a stupid tradition anyway, he reasons. Soon the year will be over, the servants will tear everything down, and his life will go back to normal.   
  
He passes the guards to her room, gives them the usual excuse that he has security matters to discuss, knocks twice on her door before opening. She is sitting on her bed, and in her hands-  
  
Mistletoe.  
  
He supposes he can humor her. Just this once. ****


End file.
